Focus
by darnedchild
Summary: Sherlock met his sister's blank stare; terrifying in its calmness, no rage or anger, nothing to explain why she'd suddenly appeared at Baker Street nearly a year after Sherrinford. (A short fic for Sherlolly Appreciation Week 2019 - Day 5)


A/N: I have left this with a deliberately ambiguous ending. I personally like to believe it ends happily, but some readers prefer to take the angsty route and who am I to deny them what they want? I'll leave the outcome up to you.

Day 5 : Molly – "You're most certainly going to die, so we need to focus."

**Focus**

He braced himself for the expected impact, anticipating his flesh being ripped apart as a bullet tore its way into his body.

He'd heard the handgun fire, as loud as a cannon shot to his ears. He'd seen the muzzle flash, smelled the acrid scent of the weapon discharge, but the burning agony did not come.

Sherlock met his sister's blank stare; terrifying in its calmness, no rage or anger, nothing to explain why she'd suddenly appeared at Baker Street nearly a year after Sherrinford.

His eyes dropped to the gun and he finally realized that it was no longer pointed at him.

Horror clutched at his heart, nearly paralyzed him in its intensity, as he heard the feminine gasp and heavy thump of something hitting floor behind him.

Instinct had him surging forward to pull the weapon out of Eurus' hand, swinging it at her face in a blow that would have been meant to incapacitate if he'd slowed his momentum or tempered his strength.

He didn't.

He didn't waste more than a split second to confirm that his sister was down and wouldn't be coming back up before he turned to throw himself across the room toward Molly.

She was still where she'd fallen and he assumed the worst as he reached for her hand, but she groaned and resisted his efforts. Her voice was thready and barely audible as she gasped, "Don't . . . pressure."

He looked around the room behind where she would have been standing, taking in everything at once, before his gaze dropped to the carpet under her. He was looking for something, something important, but what?

"I know this. I know . . . Think. Think!"

Molly's voice, sharp and firm, echoed through his head. _"You're most certainly going to die, so we need to focus."_

"Focus. Focus. Right." No sign of a bullet impact, no spreading blood beneath her. That meant, what did that mean? "The bullet is still inside you."

Molly weakly nodded.

His hands joined hers to put pressure over the wound. A small amount of blood welled up between their fingers and he thought he was going to be sick.

"Call help," Molly managed to choke out.

He could have kicked himself for not thinking of that himself. He pulled his phone out of his pocket with one hand and shakily typed out the code for emergency, hitting the speaker button before tossing the phone to the side and returning his hand to Molly.

"Hurry, she's been shot. Baker Street. 221B Baker Street. For God's sake, hurry!"

Sherlock barely heard their reply or their command to stay on the line.

Molly was so pale, and getting impossibly paler with each passing moment.

"I've got you, love. You'll be fine."

இڿڰۣ-ڰۣ—

It felt like years before Lestrade pulled up to the front of the hospital, red and blue lights on and the siren wailing. He'd been called as soon as the report of shots fired at Baker Street came through and showed up at the flat not long after the ambulance and another squad car.

It had taken an extra five precious minutes and a promise not to let Sherlock out of his sight to convince the other police to let him take Sherlock to the hospital. It wouldn't have been so difficult if there hadn't been Eurus' dead body to explain, but a call to Mycroft managed to temporarily sort that out. Sherlock would need to go to the station to give a statement as soon as Molly was stable and out of surgery; but between them, Lestrade and Mycroft had managed to buy him some time.

He rushed through the corridors of Barts, heading directly to the unit he needed without stopping to ask for directions, Lestrade hot on his heels.

Sherlock slid to a stop in front of the nurses' station. "Molly Hooper. I need to know about Molly Hooper."

The nurse put her hands on her keyboard, prepared to look up Molly's information, and paused to ask, "Are you a relative?"

"Sherlock Holmes. I'm her husband."


End file.
